Crime Archives Niko Bellic
by Teh-LC
Summary: Set after the course of GTA IV. Trying to deal with his cousin's recent death Niko Bellic is full of anger. However, the tables turn when it turns out someone has a problem with him. Niko does not know why he's in trouble. All he knows is he wants revenge
1. Chapter 1

Niko Bellic is not a nice person. He was the type of guy you would dread to meet in a dark alleyway; if he was angry you wouldn't even have time to regret seeing him. You'd drop to the floor before you even had time to think. Niko's actions were slaves to his emotions.

Niko had been getting into a lot of fights recently; a lot more than usual. Most of the time these fights were just defensive, or happened if he was trying to prove a point, but lately there were different reasons. Anger. Hatred. Rage. Not since the war has Niko acted purely with rage, but the sudden loss of his cousin was not treating him well.

Today Niko was calm for the first time in weeks. He was happily cruising around in his stolen Coquette, a curvy car with a metallic black finish. Niko was donning a grey trousers and a grey blazer. Underneath the blazer was a dark red shirt with the top button undone.

Niko had no destination for this journey. He was simply driving around Star Junction with his window rolled down, letting the air flow through the small amount of remaining hair he had. After about half an hour of this he had the sudden urge for Heartstopper (a type of burger with, according to the TV and radio ads "Had more cholesterol than any other burger" and was "guaranteed to give you Heart Disease in six bites or less"). Niko smoothly glided into a free parking space and smashed on the handbrake, leaving a pair of skid marks behind his tyre. As Niko coolly walked through the graphite covered doors of the two star restaurant he noticed three shifty looking characters that he was sure he had seen before but he simply couldn't put his finger on where. He cautiously walked past the two Russians and the Albanian and proceeded to the queue.

After the quarter of an hour wait that is to be expected with Burger Shot he headed back towards his car and opened the slightly scratched door. There was also a dent from the same occasion, from where he had gone straight past two cars at rougly 40 miles per hour and, whilst attempting a handbrake turn, had smashed sideways-on into a wall.

Instead of immediately driving out of the carpark Niko stayed stationary and ate three bites of his Burger which was oozing with fat and tomato kechup. Unable to manage a fourth bite he casually threw it out of the window and left the car park in his Coquette, which was now filled with the horrible smell that had emitted from his burger.

He decided to head for his home in North Holland, Algonquin, a penthouse that he had taken off a gangster who went by the alias "Playboy X". Instead of taking the quick route home, past the TW internet café and railroad he decided to go around, using the curved north east road near a motorway. Suddenly there was a deafening bang and Niko jolted upright – the rear of his car had just gone down, and was nearly scraping along the ground. One of his tyres had been popped with sounded like a standard 9mm pistol. Though Niko was driving at a moderately fast speed he could still see pedestrians running around like headless chickens, some diving on the ground and behind walls, others running like the wind. Many women were cowering and protecting their children whilst screaming loudly.

Two more rounds came from the pistol, followed by around 10 Micro SMG rounds. No more of his tyres had been blown but his rear wind shield had shattered, and his front wind shield had been penetrated by 4 of the shots.

Niko looked in his rear view mirror and saw two people tailing him in a Super GT – one was Russian and the other was Albanian. They were two of the guys at the Burger Shot Niko had just visited. The bald, spotty Russian in the passenger seat of the car was dripping with sweat and wielding the Micro-SMG, whilst the Albanian with a face screwed up due to intense concentration was holding a pistol in his left hand.

Instead of debating why they were after him and where the other Russian had disappeared to Niko simply carried on driving, bravely swerving in and out of traffic. The sun yellow Super GT continued to follow, dodging other cars on the road just as well as Niko had been. Niko took his eyes from the rear view mirror, which he had been looking in for a few seconds to see where the Russian and Albanian duo were, and noticed something in front of him. He saw a dirty white Cavalcade parked right in the middle of the lane Niko was in, blocking the road from the pavement (which inconveniently was scattered with heavy objects such as telephone boxes and various things Niko could not drive over) and the diveder which parted the right side of the road from the left ; a wing mirror on the Cavalcade was missing and there was a large crack running down the windscreen. It was too late to avoid the vehicle entirely now, but Niko still rotated the steering wheel as much anti-clockwise as he could purely out of instinct. His eyes glanced over to the side of the pavement where he noticed an Uzi wielding Russian, pointing his piece directly at Niko.

Niko removed his sweaty hands from the steering wheel and ducked underneath the dashboard. He could hear and feel bullets coming over his head from both in front of him and from behind him. This was the end, Niko thought. Karma had finally got it's revenge on him. He'd either die a slow and painful death due to crashing into the Cavalade which was now quickly approaching, or he would die an equally slow and painful death from receiving bullets in the back and groin. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder – he had been hit by the Albanian driver's pistol from the Super GT behind him. Suddenly there was a large thud – he had hit the Cavalcade in the middle of the road. Niko was spinning around more than his head was after a drive with Little Jacob. He realised his precious Coquette had been tipped upside down and was now travelling backwards. He could see the bright Super GT still approaching him, casually driving past the Cavalcade, which was now on it's side. This was definitely the end. Slowly the flipped Corquette grinded to a halt. Niko was now covered in blood and sweat, his fresh hot blood mixing with the blood from past victims that were stained into the red shirt underneath the blazer, though due to the colour the past stains were hardly noticable. Niko's salty sweat was passing over his penetrated shoulder, causing even more pain and anguish than he had ever wished to experience.

Niko used his remaining hand to open the battered door of the Coquette and slowly dragged himself out of the car and began to move as far away from the car as he could at a snail-like pace, using his able hand and his legs to push himself. He knew he had no chance of escaping but tried nevertheless. "Never give in" his old Army officer had repeatedly told him.

"I won't give in, I won't give in," Niko repeatedly muttered to himself, though he had no idea what he was supposed to be resisting against. Suddenly the Albanian gangster's grubby hand was on Niko's injured shoulder. He flipped Niko over so that the two were face to face. He gave a deep grunt and then fired a shot with the pistol straight into Niko's kneecap.

"This, my friend, is from Allen. Johnny Allen," the Albanian said in a strong, deep, commanding voice over the roar of on-coming sirens and the beeping of car horns. "He wants it back".

Niko pondered for a moment on what "it" could be, but he was in too much pain to have a good think about it. His face was sticky due to the mixture of blood and saliva he was laying in on the floor and his arm was now beginning to feel numb. The Albanian walked away, past the wrecked Coquette and into an Admiral containing the other Russians. Niko watched the three men drive away, past an oncoming ambulance, before his head limply hit the floor ...


	2. Chapter 2

"Uh … where am I?" Niko mumbled automatically. He had just woken up, his vision was still blurred. He had the taste of old blood and saliva inside his mouth. He could smell nothing except a slight whiff of rodent faeces. His vision was slowly coming into focus. He feebly tried to sit up but his arms collapsed under the pressure, making him loudly groan in pain.

"Niko, m'boy! Welcome back to the land of the living," said a surprisingly cheerful voice. Niko couldn't think of many people who would be happy at the sight of his presumably bloody and mangled person, except those who wanted him dead, but then he realised – Packie. Even at the worst of times Packie always seemed to have a small bit of happiness residing in his voice. He was always able to keep his spirits up, though that usually involved use of other spirits. "You've been out cold for a good, ah, ten hours at least," he said, glancing down at the time on his mobile phone. "As you been in a car crash, shot and beaten up I suppose I should offer you some water," he said jokingly whilst hoisting him upright then passing him a bottle labelled "Piβwasser Mineral Water – don't ask where the minerals come from!"

Now that Niko could see his surroundings he realised he'd rather be anywhere but here. He was in small, not at all cosy room with peeling wallpaper and a single grubby wooden door opposite himself. There was a rotting wooden desk in the corner with a chair that looked as if it would break if even a small child sat on it. Niko was lying on a cold metal table that had nearly frozen his back and lower back whilst he had been lying down. Niko noticed a rat in the corner of his eye, nibbling at Packie's shoe laces, which scurried away after a few seconds of fruitless effort. The basement was similar to the basement of Mikhail Faustin's house, except it had been Roman with the gun shot wounds rather than Niko. The thought of Roman saddened him. He preferred not to think of him since the wedding day.

"I've got to say, Packie, I would have much preferred a nice warm hospital," Niko grunted, trying to take his mind off his deceased cousin.

"Yeah, well, I think taking a man with two gunshot wounds, a broken nose and bruised ribs would have raised too many eyebrows, and we don't want that, do we?" he replied. "I still have a few connections around the city. The McRearys are getting higher up again. Well, what's left of them, at least," he muttered darkly. "One of my guys was in the area. He recognised you and pulled you outta there. He brought you back here. The family's been using this place for years. I tell ya, half of those blood stains are due to me and Gerry having a little too many enemies," indicating a dark red or browny colour trailing from the side of the table, all the way to and under the crack of the door.

Niko could barely remember what had happened. He didn't know where he was, what the time was or even what day of the week it was, which worried him. He was usually quite on top of things. He glanced down to his legs and saw that his right knee had a slightly stained bandage tightly wrapped around it. He then turned his head to his left shoulder which had been searing with pain since he had woken up and saw a much more stained bandage over a bullet hole. He could also feel a throbbing pain in his ribs, which was then he noticed that the buttons on his shirt had been ripped off, presumably to check if he had any wounds on his stomach. His left sleeve had also been ripped off. It was a shame, really. It was an expensive shirt.

"Well, Niko boy, who'd you piss off this time?" Packie questioned.

"Trust me Packie, if I had a list of all the people I've pissed off it would be longer than the list of men your mother has fucked. And that's quite a long list," he said in agony.

"You get shot up, left for dead and still think you're a right little comedian. Well, I take it you don't want my help catching the pricks that did this to you?" he joked, and noticed Niko hoisting himself up. "Ah, I thought that'd cheer you up. Well, I've not been waiting here for the past ten hours for you to wake up for no reason. Now, I'm hoping you'll be able to give me a lead to work on. So, what have you got for me?"

"Do you know anyone by the name of Allen?" he said softly, violently coughing at the end of the sentence. His throat was sore and he could barely say a word. He had barely been awake for five minutes yet tiredness was already looming over him. All of his muscles were relaxing and his eyelids were drooping slowly then sharply opening again. The only reason he didn't fall right asleep was the relentless pain spread across the whole of his body.

"Never heard of him. He's either small time or he's not from good ol' Liberty. The name doesn't sound foreign; most big families nowadays are all illegals, the bastards."

"Now now Packie, neither me nor you have the right to complain about foreigners."

"Sorry, lost my train of thought there. So anyway, does nice old Mr. Allen have a first name?"

"Yeah, but I can't remember. Jack … no, probably Jimmy," Niko said between more violent coughing fits.

"Definitely sounds American. Perhaps British. I'll get some of my boys on the case and we'll have this tough guy dead and buried within days."

"Hang on, let me c … argh!" Niko groaned in agony. He had tried to simply rotate himself but his bruised ribs and injured shoulder had not allowed him. His own body had betrayed him.

"You're probably not gonna be on your feet for a good week or two Niko. Just try to rest. I'll send round the guy who patched you up with food and water later. Just don't do any of your extreme army shit on anyone before I find out what the situation is. I'll see you later, Niko," he said, heading for the door.

"Yeah, fuck you, Packie," Niko spat, listening to Packie laughing out of the door. Now he had nothing to do, except lie down in the dank, dark room. The only source of light was a flickering light bulb above Niko's head. He had nothing to do except watch the rats scurry past trying to devour the rotten chair legs.


End file.
